


Hold Me Close, Let Me Go

by mariana333



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-12 04:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17460314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana333/pseuds/mariana333
Summary: So. Pretty short. But this is just a brief prologue. The upcoming chapters will be all the different lives they've lived. We'll see how that goes, I guess.





	1. Prologue

In one lifetime, I remembered him. But he didn't know me. We passed one another on the street, shoulders brushing on the narrow sidewalk. His eyes caught mine, for a single fleeting moment. Captured me so entirely. I stopped. He kept going. My heart thumped faster, my chest seizing up. The memories overwhelmed me, of a life no longer my own, but undeniably mine. And he was there, he was always there. Glued to the spot, I watched him go. The lump in my throat would not allow me to offer any words. I waited for him to turn back, to say he remembered me too. Surely he must have felt it, the cord tethering us together, setting my soul aflame. He never did. He disappeared around the corner, and I silently mourned. I didn't see him again.

In the next lifetime, she didn't remember him. But he remembered her. They lived different lives, a direct contradiction of the other. Their paths never had reason to cross. But he found her anyways. Her hand was entwined in someone else's, that musical laughter reserved for someone else. She kissed someone else, smiled at someone else, loved _someone else_. She glanced over at him once. He froze. Waited. But she simply frowned, turned away from him. He sipped at his drink sullenly, a haunted look shadowed in his dark eyes. They spent that life apart too.

Most lifetimes, they didn't remember one another at all. Always wearing a different face, a new body. Their pasts, their life stories, their friends and families never remained the same. But they always met. Whether it be just a brief moment of contact, an intimate connection. They always met. They were written in the stars, their fates etched into stone.

Some lives they stayed together. They met, they connected. They loved. Some lives they hated, loathed, seethed. But indifference. They never could manage that. Their souls were so deeply melded into the other, it was impossible not to care. Over and over again, they were reborn, forced to start anew. Choice was never an option. They lived, they died, they lived again. Forced back into the world, they were born again, found each other again. And the cycle continued. An infinite loop.

 


	2. Stolen Dance

 

 

My toes hurt. It wasn't anything new really. My toes always hurt. Perks of the job and all. It was a necessary pain if I wanted to accomplish anything. And usually, an easily ignored inconvenience. But I was really feeling it today. They burned, they stung, they pleaded for me to stop. I didn't have the time to dwell on it. Time was ever a luxury. And beauty is pain. So I grit my teeth and continued on.

I'd been at it for hours. Plie after plie, my ankles weak from the strain. The exhaustion was creeping up, and I couldn't help but think about how itchy the leg warmers were, how far my leotard was riding up. I really should just call it a night. But with the recital coming up, I needed to take advantage of ever minute, every second. Though my muscles cried, my will was unwavering. Ballet was my passion, and I was nothing if not determined.

I caught my eye in the wall of mirrors, grimacing. I knew they were just there to assist, but I hated seeing myself when I was dancing. The mirrors seemed to narrow in on all my flaws. My hair was unseemly, coming out of its tightly woven bun. And my face was red with exertion. I turned away quickly. That was enough of that. The mirrors were a distraction I didn't need.

I let out a breath, and forced my feet back into an en pointe position. From the top then. Arms held just so, and-

A sudden crash nearly had my heart jumping out of my chest. The tinkling of broken glass was unmistakable. Someone breaking in then? But why? This was a dance studio, not a bank. Fear was quickly replaced by annoyance. I didn't have time for such a pointless interruption. My nerves were already frayed, and some moron had the audacity to disturb me? I balled up my fists, lip curling up in distaste. A tiny voice suggested I call the cops, maybe have them deal with it. But the louder, more aggressive part of my brain shoved that voice right off the brink. I'd investigate myself. It was probably nothing, no need to waste even more time by involving the authorities.

I stepped silently through the dimly lit studio, careful not to make a sound. It was always so eerie after hours. But I'd gone to painstaking lengths to secure extra practice time. The space was mine every Wednesday, after everyone had gone home for the day. And I never took it for granted, pouring in endless hours, shedding blood, sweat and tears during the time gifted to me.

I paused when I heard a masculine grunt. I crept closer, steeling my nerve. And I peeked around the corner. There was a man dressed conspicuously all in black. Right down to the matching cotton mask concealing his face. He had a large duffle bag at his feet, the sides bulging outward. A thief? But there was nothing to steal here. This must have been the nearest building he could duck into for his getaway. I scowled. Just my luck he had to pick Wednesday for his little crime spree.

"Christ, that hurt," the man mumbled, pulling at his gloves. My breath caught in my throat when he peeled the mask off. I squinted. It was too dark to see properly, but he was obviously in need of a haircut. It hung in long sweaty strands, dangling in front of his eyes. He raked a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. The man scooped up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. I leaned in for a closer look. And then my hand slipped off the corner of the wall, eliciting a soft yelp. The man wheeled around.

"Who's there?"

I kept silent, my heart pounding a rapid beat against my ribcage. He slipped something out of his pocket. My mouth went dry. A knife. I stumbled backwards. I couldn't die here. And yet, the man was still approaching. Maybe I should have called the cops. Could I still do that? My phone was in the dressing room, but would I make it?

"Well, well. What do we have here."

It was at this moment I think my heart stopped. How did he get behind me?

"A witness," he mused, so close his breath tickled my ear. He held the knife up to my throat, his other arm winding around my waist. "We certainly can't have that. Can we?"

My throat closed up. I couldn't even muster up the air to scream. What a way to go. And in a leotard no less. The knife slid across my throat. But the pain was absent. My hand snapped up, and I yanked it out of his grasp. I whirled around, waving it at him.

"This is a rubber knife!" I screeched. The man backed up, wry smile tugging at his lips. I couldn't believe it. Here I was thinking I was seconds from death, and this asshole…

"Who does that? Who does that!"

My voice had taken a hysterical note. Because what kind of sadistic bastard got a kick out of something like that? He plucked it out of my grip, bending the rubber blade.

"Looks pretty realistic though, don't it?" He waggled his eyebrows. I gave him a flat look of my own, to mask the wary fear still present. But I had to ask.

"Just to confirm. You're not planning to kill me. Right?"

The man shrugged carelessly. "Nah. Too much blood. Makes a right mess. And I may be a lot of things, but a murderer ain't one of them."

My stiff body relaxed, and I nodded. "Okay. Then I have things to do. Good luck with," I made a vague gesturing motion, "whatever it is you're doing."

The mans jaw fell slack for a moment. "You're not gonna call the cops?"

"Waste of time," I dismissed. He eyes me curiously. I ignored him, turning to walk away. That should have been the end of it. I would return to practice, and he would go back to his great escape or whatever. Except he followed me back to the studio. My eye twitched.

"How long do you plan on following me?" I snapped, whirling around. "Don't you have better things to do? Like escaping, maybe?"

He shook his head, smarmy grin pasted on his face as he shifted his duffle bag to the other shoulder.

"You're interesting. You interest me. Besides, I need a place to hide anyways." He looked around, nodding in approval. "Here seems as good a place as any."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. Just don't bother me."

This situation was certainly high on my top 10 list of weird happenings, but I didn't have the time to let that stop me. I got back into position, hand locked firmly around the cold metal bar. Sucked in a breath as I rose to my toes.

"Doesn't that hurt?" the man asked, cocking his head to the side.

"What did I just say?"

He held his hand up in surrender. "My bad. Please, do carry on mutilating your feet."

I ignored him. My eyes caught the mirror, and I frowned.

"You're getting blood all over the floor!" I shrieked.

"Huh?" He held up the hand he was picking at, holding it closer to his face than necessary for inspection. "Well, would ya look at that?"

I growled in annoyance as I stomped over to him, grabbing him by the arm.

"Whoa!" He stumbled after me as I dragged him into the next room, where we kept the first aid kit. We sat in silence for a moment as I cleaned and wrapped a bandage carefully around his hand. The jagged cuts were clearly from the glass. He winced as I pulled bits out with the tweezers. I sat so close to him I could hear him breathing. And I couldn't help but to inspect him at closer range. Freckles dotted across his nose, and his eyes were dark, dark enough to suck you in like a black hole.

"So," he said, leaning back on his uninjured hand, "you're not gonna turn me in, and now your patching me up? You're certainly one of a kind, sweetheart."

He flinched when I wrenched his hand roughly. "Okay, one: don't call me that. My name is Loretta. And two: I'm no one special, just a dance student trying to make something of herself. Not a particularly unique story, but there it is."

Yeah, there it was I guess. Just another face in the crowd, trying to be something more. Story of my life. He was quiet for a moment, inspecting my work. I don't know why I was antsy. As someone who had treated multiple injuries of my own, I definitely knew what I was doing at this point.

"You're pretty serious about this whole thing," he finally said.

"Well, it is my entire future," I muttered. I was staking everything on this, no backup plan. I couldn't afford to screw up.

He hummed. "Best get back to it then."

And he was suddenly pulling me along.

"And you're, what? Staying here?" I said, struggling to keep up with his longer strides.

"Just till the coast is clear." He winked.

I'd only just returned to my starting stance when I heard the sirens. I moaned, head tilted to the ceiling. Why.

"Are you serious? You're just heaps of trouble, dude. Honestly."

He didn't answer. He slung the bag roughly over one shoulder. I tugged on his hand urgently.

"Follow me. Quickly," I hissed. We moved swiftly through the small studio, stopping at a nondescript door. I yanked it open, shoving him forcefully inside.

"Ouch!" he protested as he went tumbling to the floor, oversized bag and all. I snickered. Just a little. I sobered up quickly enough though.

"Don't move. I'll get rid of them." I closed the door before he had chance to retort, making my way to the flashing lights. I only remembered I was still in my leotard when a cop gave me an odd sort of look, scanning me up and down. My cheeks heated, but I cleared my throat, steeling my expression.

"Officers," I nodded politely. "How can I help you today?"

There, that was a normal question right? They're the ones who don't belong here, not me. I have every right to be wondering why they were disturbing me at this hour.

"Well," he coughed, averting his gaze. I subtly crossed my arms across my chest. "We're on the hunt for a thief. Eyewitness says they saw him run by this way. Have you seen anything suspicious?"

"A thief?" I forced my eyes really wide in what I hoped looked like astonishment. "What'd he steal?"

"That's confidential, Miss, you understand."

I bobbed my head, feeling like an airhead all the while. "I haven't seen anything today. It's just been me here."

"You sure? Couldn't help but notice your window is broken." He gestured to the shattered glass. My eyes trailed slowly over to the scene.

"Oh that! Dance accident, you understand."

He eyed me suspiciously. "Ah huh. Well, if you do see anything, you know how to reach us."

And just as quick as they appeared, the cops were gone. I waited until I couldn't see them anymore to let out a relieved breath. I'd just lied to the cops. How far I had fallen.

I opened the change room door, raising an eyebrow. "Unbelievable."

The thief was nibbling on some kind of snack bar. "They gone?" he asked around a mouthful of granola. I sighed in exasperation.

"Yeah, they're gone."

He leapt up nimbly, duffle bag and all. "Then perhaps it's time for me to take my leave. Wouldn't wanna bother you _too_ much."

My gut clenched for reasons I didn't want to explore. I nodded stiffly, following him to the back door.

He grinned, saluting. "See ya." Then he paused, digging into his bag. He pulled out a small bracelet, shiny blue stones embedded into it. Pressed it into my hand. "For you. Catch you on the flip side, Etta!"

The door clanged shut behind me, leaving me standing there, jaw dropped and hand wrapped around a stolen bracelet. Great. I was officially an accessory to theft. And the audacity of that man! Etta, honestly.

Walking back to the studio, I ran my fingers over the bracelet. It was beautiful. Not that I could ever wear it, what with it being stolen and all. I slipped in on my wrist, admiring it. Just for today, I could wear it. No harm in that, right? I stepped back into position for what was hopefully the last time tonight. I just wanted to get through the routine once.

And I did. It went flawlessly, every twirl, every leap landed perfectly. I expected to feel relieved. Happy even. So what was this disappointment in the pit of my stomach? I clenched my fist around the bracelet, jamming it down the side of my bag. He just shows up, no warning, and then disappears just as quickly. I didn't even know his name. I glared at the bracelet. I wouldn't let that him get to me. It didn't bother me. Really. Maybe if I repeated it enough times I could make it true.

* * *

It was bothering me. For some reason, I just couldn't let it go. The bizarre encounter followed me home, that man's impish smile haunting my dreams. All week I'd been distracted. Seeing him around every corner, behind every tree. And the fact that I never learned his name? It was maddening. Even when he wasn't around he was a distraction. I sighed as I walked into the studio, waving to my fellow dancers. I waited until the change room had emptied before I slipped my leotard on. Mind still clouded, I trudged into the studio sullenly. And nearly had a heart attack.

Holding my hand to my chest, I glared furiously at the cause of my near death, leaning casually against a wall. He waggled his fingers back at me, a lollipop hanging lazily out of his mouth.

"How did you get in here?" I demanded, jabbing a finger in his direction. It probably wasn't very intimidating from the other side of the room. He ignored me, rolling the lollipop stick between his fingers.

"Do you know how long it took me to find you again? Apparently, you're not even here most of the week."

I crossed my arms, in an attempt to calm the fluttering of my heart. "You tried to find me?"

"Yup. Been here everyday, but here you weren't. I'm a busy guy, you know, don't really have the time to waste skulking around here."

I curled up my hands, fingernails digging into my palms. This man certainly had a lot of nerve, acting like I was the one inconveniencing him. "So why did you? No one asked you to."

"Why?" he strolled up to me languidly. "Because you're interesting. And for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to stay away. Consider yourself lucky, sweetheart."

"It's not _sweetheart_ , it's-"

"Etta, I know," he said, waving a dismissive hand.

"No, its _Lo_ retta," I corrected brusquely.

"Hmmm, nope. Etta is better."

I scowled. He stared me down, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"Fine, whatever. Call me what you like. In return, I want your name."

"So you're interested?"

"No," I protested. "But it's only fair."

He seemed to be considering. "It's Steve," he finally said. A heavy blanket of silence fell. And then I burst into laughter.

"No it's not." I said through bouts of giggles.

"Short for Steven," he corrected.

"Your name is Steve," I deadpanned.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes really. What part of that is so hard to understand?"

I shrugged. "Because you're a thief. Named Steve."

"And?"

"That's not a very thief-like name."

"Oh?" he looked interested, leaning a hand on the wall next to me. His face suddenly very close to mine. "And what is a thief-like name?"

"I dunno, like Dante or Christophe, or something. Something mysterious, you know?"

I tried to back further into the wall, with little success. Was the air getting thinner or was it just me? He eyed me, rolling the lollipop around again. "Okay."

I was confused. "Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll be Christophe instead."

I couldn't suppress a snicker. "What? No way, no take backs. You're stuck witch Steve." A sudden thought occurred to me. "Steve the Thief. It's got a nice ring to it."

"I'll take your word for it."

He'd gotten so close I could smell candy on his breath. My own breathing had hitched, and I gave him a firm shove.

"Okay, that's enough of that. I have to practice."

I slipped under his arm hastily, scampering to the other side of the room. He nodded. "I'll just be over here," he said, slinking into a sitting position. It was unnerving having him watch me at first, through warm-ups and then into practice, but soon enough I fell into my routine, the rest of the world disappearing. It was only after I'd completed it near flawlessly that I noticed he was gone. My heart sunk. He hadn't even said goodbye.

"I see you kept the bracelet," he said, hot breath brushing my ear. I shrieked, scrambling away.

"Don't _do_ that!"

He snorted "Skittish, are we? My bad."

He was holding the bracelet, _my_ bracelet, daintily between two fingers. I snatched it out of his grip possessively.

"Not like I can wear it anyways, seeing as you stole it," I grumbled. I slipped it on my wrist anyways.

"But you do _like_ it."

I fiddled with the gems, not looking at him. "Maybe." I don't know why I was so attached to it. A memento of my strange occurrence, perhaps? I liked concrete evidence of things. So sue me.

He nodded, smiling. I watched him warily.

"On that note, I gotta go. Till next time."

He threw something at me. I caught it clumsily. When I looked up, he was gone. Leaving me staring after him in bewilderment, holding a granola bar.

* * *

He showed up every Wednesday after that. He always had some garbage excuse for why he was there that week. I just told him to shut up and let me concentrate, suppressing a fond smile. And he was always toting some kind of stolen loot, varying from expensive jewels down to knickknacks he lifted from the convenience store. I was starting to suspect he was a thief not solely by choice, but because of ingrained kleptomaniac tendencies. I hadn't managed to make him admit it, but I know he stole one of my keychains.

He was always munching on some variety of snack. Never failed to attempt to push some onto me, but I always vehemently refused. He nagged me about how I needed the calories, I was too skinny, how was I meant to keep my strength up if I didn't eat? But I couldn't eat that crap, as an athlete I needed an athletes diet. He hummed thoughtfully when I told him as much. I figured that was the end of it. Until he started bringing in healthy alternatives, backed up by verified sources and articles off the internet. And I relented. It was impossible not to, the man always had a counter-argument.

That's not to say I was a total pushover. More often than not, Steve was sporting some kind of injury, from his latest heist or just a bout of clumsiness. I wasn't sure, and I never asked. It wasn't my business, and I didn't really want to know. But I was insistent that he let me patch him up. If he was persistent in carrying on his chosen occupation, then he should be in peak condition. And I would fix him up, whether he liked it or not. He'd be a hypocrite otherwise. We took care of each other, I suppose.

I began to look forward to Wednesdays, counting down the days impatiently. I still ascertained I got adequate amounts of practice in, of course. But Steve made the week more interesting. He always said I was the interesting one here, a point in which I still failed to see his reasoning, but I thought the opposite. How many people could say they were friends with Steve the Thief? Not many, I bet. I didn't know how long this strange friendship was set to last, and I never voiced the question aloud. Didn't even dare ponder to myself for too long. I just wanted to enjoy things while they lasted.

* * *

"Oh, you must be joking."

First time I saw Steve outside of the studio? He was robbing a convenience store. Of course he was. And of course, there happened to be an officer out of uniform in the store. How did I know this? Because this was the very same officer who'd questioned me all those weeks ago. But I'm betting Steve didn't know that. I perused the candy section, watching Steve out of the corner of my eye. He was standing only feet away from the cop, hand reaching out for something on the shelves. I'd never seen him in action, but I had to admire his technique. It was just smooth enough.

I slid into the next aisle, poking him in the arm.

"Christophe? Is that you? Why, I haven't seen you since first year of college!" I placed a hand on his arm familiarly. If I didn't already have my heart set on being a dancer, I'm pretty sure I could take up a career in acting.

Steve blinked owlishly at me. I jerked my head towards the cop.

"How are you?" I continued the act, subtly steering him towards the exit. He followed my lead, bemused smile on his face. When we were far enough away from the store, I yanked his ear, dragging him into a nearby alleyway.

"Ouch! Jeez, Etta, that hurts."

"You moron!" I hissed. "That was a cop standing right next to you!"

His eyes widened in realization. And an easy smile blossomed on his face. "And you decided to save me? That's sweet."

I eyes him suspiciously. "You knew, didn't you."

He shrugged. "Maybe. But it's still appreciated. I'm really touched by how much you care."

I rolled my eyes. What possessed you to implement the 'five finger discount', as it were, right in front of a cop anyways? Arrogance is just asking for trouble, you know," I warned.

He held up the pack of gum he'd lifted sheepishly. "I got itchy fingers. It's a condition."

"Uh huh."

That about proved my kleptomania theory.

He offered me a gum, cramming it back into his pocket with a shrug when I refused. I didn't want to encourage his unsavoury habit any more than necessary.

"So, what brings you to this side of town?" he asked, casually leaning back against the brick wall.

My eyes widened. Crap. "I was supposed to grab a lighter." I should have been right back. One of the girls was celebrating a birthday, and no one had a lighter for the candles. So I offered to run out and grab one. Just a few minutes, I'd said. So much for that.

I sighed. "Suppose I'll have to go to a different store."

"Here. Take mine."

He placed a sealed 4-pack of lighters in my hand

"Of course you just happened to steal that too," I groaned, giving him a chastising look. But he did already steal it, so… I cracked open the package, pocketing one of the lighters.

He grinned at me. "Suppose I must have subconsciously known a pretty lady would be in need. Because honestly, it was in my pocket before I even realized I'd grabbed it."

"Thanks," I said grudgingly. Saved me an extra trip at least. An extra trip I wouldn't have needed if not for him, but we can leave that part out. We stood in silence for a moment.

"Well, I gotta go, so I'll see you…?" I let my voice trail off.

"You'll see me," he said, winking.

"And I expect you to call me Christophe again," he called after my retreating back. I turned around to offer a witty retort, but he'd already disappeared. Great. Wouldn't be hearing the end of that one for a while.

* * *

The second time I met Steve outside the studio, it was because he'd invited me to dinner.

"Come on, it'll be fun," he cajoled. That lopsided smile was enough to send my heart into cardiac arrest. But I shook my head.

"I dunno, it might not be such a great idea."

To be honest, I felt a little uneasy about the whole thing. It was one thing acquainting myself with a wanted thief here, in the safety of the studio where no one knew about it. Where it was a secret, just for me. It was another thing entirely to make plans to hang out. Like we were actual friends who made plans and stuff.

"I already put the time and address in your notes," he said, handing my phone back to me. And when had he even had time to snag that? "I'll be waiting for you on Friday night."

I looked down at my phone in disbelief, "You can't just-" I glanced up to tell him exactly what he _couldn't just_. But he was already gone. I glared at the spot he was no longer standing in. I hated it when he did that.

I spent the next two days talking myself out of going. Talking myself back into going. A lot of back and forth conversations with myself basically. Things were fine, why did he have to go and complicate everything? I growled, grabbing my purse off the bedside table. Scowled during the entire cab ride. The driver must have thought I was crazy. Crossed my arm over the dress that wasn't technically new, but I hadn't worn it since I bought it so kind of new? I wasn't dressing up for him, it was just a waste not to take it out for a spin at least once.

My ire faded when I saw him all dressed up, waiting for me at a reserved table. He smiled and waved me over. I tried my best to keep my face stern, but a small smile of my own won out.

"So you came after all," he said.

"It's rude to stand people up," I grumbled. He smirked into his water but didn't comment.

The restaurant was fancier than anything I was used to, being a broke college student and all. But he insisted I not hold back, because he wanted me to enjoy myself. I admit, it was nice interacting with him in an entirely new environment. I told him more about myself, and while he spoke about the same amount as me, he somehow managed to say so much without really revealing anything at all. Yet for all I didn't learn about him, it felt right being here with him. Almost like we'd done this before. Like I had known him before. I brushed it off. Foolish thought, that.

"I'm paying the bill," I said through gritted teeth.

"You are not," he said stubbornly, trying to gently but firmly wrench the bill out of my hands.

"I'm not letting you pay, because god knows who you got that money from. As a mostly upstanding citizen, I will not be indulging in your criminal loot." I sniffed haughtily.

"Fine," he said, leaning back in his seat.

Fine? That was too easy. I observed him suspiciously, but I was able to pay the bill with no further argument.

Steve escorted me home, no further comments on the state of the bill. I slipped my heels off as I closed the door behind me. Reached into my pocket for my phone and cursed. That bastard had slipped money into my pocket. And I was willing to bet it was the entire cost of the bill, if not more. I couldn't help but smile. Sneaky bastard.

* * *

"Was there a reason you deemed it necessary to steal King Tut's skull? Why were you even at the museum in the first place?"

I snatched the skull out of the air when he threw it up in an attempt to juggle it.

"I was bored. Thought I should enrich myself with knowledge. Or something."

I traced a finger over the edge of the skull absentmindedly. He pried the skull gently from my hands. He tilted my chin up gently.

"You've been quiet. Something up?"

Steve was annoyingly intuitive. Because in fact something _was_ up. My recital was next week. The big one. It would define my future in ballet. Determine whether I had the talent for this career. I'd been meaning to invite him for some time now, but for some reason I could just never find the words. So I put it off. Put it off again. And again, and again, until I could put it off no longer. Because it was next week and I was officially out of time.

I raised my eyes, still fiddling with my fingers.

"I was just wondering…" I breathed out slowly. Would he even want to come? He would, right? He was always telling me how interesting I was. So surely he would want to see me in action for real.

Steve leaned in. "Yeesss?" he said, drawing out the word.

"Will-you-come-to-my-recital?" I practically shouted the words at him.

"Hmmm." He seemed to be considering. I frowned, because he'd played this game before, but the typical playful smile was absent. I pulled away from him, studying his face.

"When is it?" he finally asked.

"Next Wednesday. 7:00."

My stomach was roiling. Because he _still_ wasn't smiling at me.

"Loretta…"

"It's fine if you can't, not a big deal or anything," I brushed him off, turning away. My eyes stung a little. He hadn't even rejected me yet. But he never used my full name. Never.

"It's not that I don't want to come. I have a thing that day."

I brushed off his warm hand on my shoulder.

"It's fine, It's stupid, don't worry about it." I gave him my best smile. I think it came out as more of a pained grimace.

"I have to go," I said. And I rushed out of the room ignoring his confused attempts to call me back. I wiped at my face as I quickly got my stuff. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't. Not here, not in front of him. It wasn't fine, and my heat hurt. Just a little. But I would never let him know that. It was me who left first that day. I didn't look back.

* * *

I wanted to cry. Because I'd screwed up. So much time and effort poured into this, and I'd messed it up. The recital wasn't really a recital at all, but a test of skills. To prove to myself, and to everyone else, that I belonged here. That this was meant to be. And I hadn't made it. I wasn't good enough. My entire future, gone, just like that. What was all that practice for, all that effort? My toes bled, and my ankles were abused, and for what? Just to be told I wasn't good enough?

"Damn it." I punched a hand into the wall. The dressing room had emptied out hours ago, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. I didn't know where to go from here.

"Damn it damn it damn it!" I hit the wall over and over again. My hand hurt. I went to hit it again, only to hit soft flesh instead. I looked up though tear-filled eyes.

"Steve?"

My heart leapt despite myself. He came. He twined his fingers in mine, spinning me around.

"I waited for you, but you never came out. But look, I got you something!"

He pressed something cold into my hand. I looked down. An awkward sob-laugh escaped my throat.

"Where'd you steal this from?"

The necklace matched the bracelet he'd given me all those months ago, on our very first meeting.

He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "It was the first time I really went out and stole something specific, for someone else."

"You know I can't wear this," I murmured.

"Sure you can," he whispered. "Like this."

He swept unruly hair away from my neck, clasping the necklace into place. His hot breath tickled the hairs on my neck. I fingered it gently. My lower lip trembled. And suddenly I was in his arms, sobbing into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and we just stayed like that for a while. We fit like two puzzle pieces. He felt familiar. Like I was returning to a dream I'd known all my life, but could never quite remember. Mostly, he felt safe. He felt warm. He felt like mine.

From the second we'd met, though I may not have known it at the time, I'd been enraptured. He was intriguing, and mysterious, and he had those adorable freckles. I couldn't help but be drawn in. How far we had come. His eyes captured mine, those swirling black holes of his. It was in that moment that he kissed me, his lips molding perfectly to mine. And I knew I was wholly his. Quite the thief he was.

"It's not the end, you know. Plenty of opportunities out there."

I nodded glumly. I knew that of course. There was never just one chance in life. Life was full of chances. But I'd placed all my hopes on this one. It was stupid really.

"I just needed a minute. You know?"

He nodded understandingly. Then smirked devilishly. "You want me to rob the judges?"

I snorted, considering. "Maybe."

It'd make me feel better, anyways.

He did end up robbing the judges. Stole the scrawny one's Rolex.

"I might throw it in the river. Wishing on a coin is old school, but wishing on an overpriced watch? Classic."

I hummed in amusement, swinging our linked arms back and forth. I didn't know what my future had in store. I wouldn't give up on my dancing dreams. I couldn't see myself doing anything else after all. I might just… put them on the backburner. For a while.

"So. France?" I asked him again.

He smiled at me, that adorable lopsided smile that had stolen my heart.

"Romantic, right? All those baguettes, what could be better?"

Though it really wasn't my style, I'd decided to wing it. Nothing better than French baguettes, right?

**Author's Note:**

> So. Pretty short. But this is just a brief prologue. The upcoming chapters will be all the different lives they've lived. We'll see how that goes, I guess.


End file.
